


Someone Better

by VarjoRuusu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8.04, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Feelings, How I think the conversation could have continued, Love Confessions, Reunion Added, Romance, of a sort, second chapter, you will probably cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: Sansa watches the dragons in silence until Tyrion comes, standing at her side, speaking of how the Dragon Queen will save them all and she can only think "What if she can't? What if she's not the one who's meant to save them?"-A bittersweet continuation of the conversation on the battlements when Sansa tells Tyrion about Jon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try and portray a bit of the shock Sansa seems to be feeling after finding out and I ended up with this. Be warned the ending is very bittersweet and it is very much an interlude, Tyrion still leaves for Kings Landing.

She heard footsteps behind her but she didn't turn, didn't acknowledge Tyrion when he spoke to her. She was in shock, she knew that much. Worse than when they came out of the crypts a little over three days ago, because then at least she'd been able to keep busy. Now there was nothing to distract her, nothing to stop the thoughts pouring through her head. Jon wasn't her brother. Their whole lives had been a lie, their father had kept the truth from them all, and Jon wasn't her brother.

She answered Tyrion automatically, not really even hearing what he was saying, what she was saying in response. She couldn't, all she could hear was how Jon wasn't her brother, how he was really the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. To that stupid chair that had gotten her grandfather, her uncle, her father, her mother, and three of her brothers killed. She missed Theon, he would have cuffed Jon upside the head and told him to stop moping over being a prince, rather than a bastard. At least, the old Theon would have.

“Sansa, look at me,” Tryion broke into her thoughts finally and she took a breath, turning slowly to him.

“With Jon in the capital, you'll be the true power in the north,” Tyrion said quietly.

Sansa didn't care, even as Tyrion kept talking, kept trying to convince her that Daenerys would save them all.

“You're afraid of her,” Sansa interrupted a moment later and Tyrion froze.

“Every good ruler needs to inspire a bit of fear,” Tyrion said after a moment, his voice hesitant. Sansa frowned, shaking her head. Tyrion was terrified, she could see it in his eyes.

“I don't want Jon to go down there,” she said. “The men in my family don't do well in the capital.”

“No,” Tyrion agreed. “But as your brother once told me, he's not a Stark.”

He was, but he was also...Sansa turned away, trying to hide her emotions, keep it all in check. Tyrion had always been able to read her like a book, but now she knew he likely wouldn't push.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, obviously suspicious. When she didn't answer he signed.

The shock was clearing, and Sansa thought...she thought what if?

“I believe in her,” Tyrion said as he turned away.

It was now, or it was never. Jon had sworn her to secrecy, but she couldn't trust Daenerys. She couldn't. Not after everything. She couldn't trust anyone but Tyrion, and wasn't that something she'd never thought she'd hear herself say, even inside her own head.

He was almost to the doorway when she turned, his name on her lips. He turned back to her and took in a breath.

“What if there's someone else?” she said quietly. “Someone better?”

 

* * *

 

“What are you saying?” Tyrion asked as he shut the door to Sansa's rooms behind them, throwing the bolt.

“I'm saying she's not the last Targaryen and she doesn't have the strongest claim to the throne,” Sansa said, repeating her last words from the battlement. On hearing them, Tyrion had hurried them inside to speak where ears couldn't overhear.

“You're going to have to explain better than that, Sansa,” Tyrion told her as she pulled off her cloak and sank into a chair in front of the fire, her eyes staring blankly.

“Jon isn't my father's son. He's the son of my aunt Lyanna and...”

“Rhaegar Targaryen,” Tyrion breathed. “But-”

“He had his marriage annulled,” Sansa broke in. “Sam found it in a book in the citadel, and Bran saw it in a vision. He married Lyanna and Jon is their trueborn son, Aegon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne and the seven kingdoms.”

Tyrion stared at her, at a loss for words.

“Lyanna died in childbirth,” Sansa continued after a moment. “She told my father the truth, made him promise to protect the baby because if Robert knew, he'd kill him, just like he did to Elia's children. Like he did to Rhaegar.”

“So...” Tyrion said finally, after thinking for several long moments. “Robert's rebellion was a lie. Rhaegar never kidnapped your aunt.”

“She ran away with him,” Sansa said softly. “There was a time I would have thought it was romantic.”

Tyrion went to the table under the window and poured them both a generous glass of wine, passing one of the glasses to Sansa as he came to stand next to her, matching her stare into the fire.

“And you think...Jon would make a better king than Daenerys would make a queen,” he said finally.

“He has a better claim,” Sansa said and Tyrion nodded.

“That doesn't mean he'll make a better ruler.”

“He was already King in the North.”

“I know,” Tyrion said, draining his wineglass. “A responsibility he never wanted, just as he never wanted to be Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, never wanted to have that duty thrust upon him.”

“She doesn't care how many people she kills to get her throne,” Sansa said and Tyrion looked away, wishing she weren't right.

Daenerys was was ruthless when she wanted to be, and now so close to her goal, with so many losses so close together, he feared for her sanity. She always seemed to be balancing on the edge of a knife now, and if she knew about Jon, that would push her even further.

“She knows?” Tyrion asked, wondering, his mind working, calculating, balancing, scheming, questioning. If Jon Snow was a Targaryen, with a higher claim, then that damned chair was as good as his.

“Jon told her, before the battle,” Sansa said, taking a drink of her wine, eyes still on the fire. “I just...I wanted you to know there's another option.”

Tyrion nodded and they lapsed into silence.

She didn't know what she'd been thinking. Telling him wasn't going to change anything, but she still couldn't believe it, really. All these years and none of them had known. After everything, after seeing her father executed in front of her, after hearing about her mother, and Robb, after watching Ramsey cut down Rickon, after placing the Stark wolf on Theon's armour as she said goodbye… she thought she might be done losing family, at least for a while. Maybe she hadn't lost Jon, they were still family, but he wasn't her brother any more, and she felt that loss as keenly as if he'd died.

“I…I should go,” Tryion said finally, setting aside his glass and staring at Sansa for a long moment before turning and walking away.

“I wish we could run away,” Sansa said softly, her words barely audible, but none the less Tyrion heard her and paused, turning back toward her, his hand on the bolt.

“I wish we could just go, leave this all behind,” Sansa continued. “Run as fast and as far as we could, not stop until no one knew who we were or where we came from, until we were so far from Westeros that no one would even know which direction Westeros was. I wish we could run away, but we can't.”

“You'd...want to run away with me?” Tyrion said cautiously, not believing what she was saying.

Sansa turned to look at him, her eyes so full of conflict that Tyrion wanted to cross the room and just hold her until it all went away. He really did love his lady wife, though she was his wife no more, he had loved her for years.

“You were the only one who was ever kind to me,” she whispered and Tyrion gave in, crossing the room and taking her hands in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles, tears in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, choking on the emotion boiling in his heart. “I love the silly romantic girl you used to be and I love the strong smart woman you've become. If I could run away with you I would, a thousand times over, and then a thousand times again, I swear it.”

Sansa leaned her forehead against his, eyes closed as she sighed, her fingers squeezing his.

“But we can't,” she whispered.

“No,” Tyrion said softly. “We can't.”

“I'm sorry,” Sansa whispered and Tyrion hushed her.

“When this is over, I'll come back for you. We'll run away together to the other side of the world, I swear it by the old gods and the new. I promise.”

“You can't promise that,” Sansa said, tears fighting their way from her eyes and down her cheeks. “You can't promise me you're going to survive."

“I've survived worse odds,” Tyrion said and Sansa laughed.

“You have,” she whispered, pulling her hands from his and resting them on his shoulders, her thumbs brushing the edges of his neck and leaving his hands to frame her face softly.

They stood like that for a long time, just holding one another, until Tyrion took a shuddering breath and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for long seconds before he pulled away, walking resolutely to the door and not looking back, even though he could hear her tears as she sobbed quietly before the fire.

He would come back, by all the gods, he would come back to her and he would marry her properly and he would spend the rest of his life doing everything he could to make her happy. But first, he had a war to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I didn't even let them kiss. But second chapter ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was call for a reunion, so a reunion you shall have. After everything, I would just like to see Sansa and Tyrion happy, even if it's not together. Together is preferable, but. Anyway, here you are.

It’s over. It’s all over. The war is done and King's Landing still stands, if only just. Somehow, they were still alive.

It had been Ser Davos' idea, initially, to sneak into the city in the dead of night and spirit people away. They'd started with the children, orphans first, then the rest. Children were followed by their mothers, then their fathers. Soon King's Landing was nearly empty and Cersei longer had her wall of bodies to protect her. Some people stayed, a lot of people stayed, but they saved thousands of lives, sending them to Storm's End, to Dragonstone, to the Vale. Then the battle could begin.

The Northern army joined them, the second Grayjoy fleet sailed around Dorne and met what was left of the Targaryen fleet. The Iron Born were fierce, and they were angry at the loss of Theon. It was a long and bloody fight, the city ravaged by dragon fire, the Red Keep in ruins, and Euron Grayjoy's fleet at the bottom of the sea.

But it’s over, and it’s done, and Tyrion stands on the shores of Dragonstone once more, no longer Hand of the Queen. He’d given that position to Lord Varys as soon as the battle was won.

They all stood on the beach, taking a moment for themselves before the rebuilding starts. He's already spoken to Yara, packed what few things he had left, and now, as the others sit around a great fire, food and drink being passed around aplenty, Tyrion turns away from everything he's ever known and walks away.

“Where are you going?” Jon called after him, but the other man didn’t pause. 

“I’m going home,” he said as he climbed into a rowboat and two Iron Born set them off on the waves toward Yara’s ship, waiting to take him north.

Jon just stared at the retreating boat with confusion. He didn’t know what Tyrion had meant, or if he'd be back, but there were other things, more pressing things, that took his attention away from the ship that vanished into the shadows as the sun set on Dragonstone.

For Tyrion the journey was hell. Two weeks aboard a ship, he really didn’t like ships, then a weeks ride from White Harbor. By the time the walls of Winterfell came into sight, he knew she would have gotten news of what happened. Even though ravens flew slower in winter, and the temperatures were enough to send men running for Dorne and its eternal sunshine, the bird would have beaten even the fastest ships and horses.

The gate opened as the horses approached and Tyrion wished once again he hadn’t been born a dwarf, that he could leap from his horse and run the rest of the way, because there she was, rushing through the gate, her hair half braided and her cloak forgotten as she ran. She was feet away when Tyrion reigned in his horse and swung himself out of the saddle, uncaring how ungraceful he looked doing it. She was there in an instant, her arms wrapped around him as she fell to her knees, clutching him for all she was worth as Tyrion gripped her tightly and swore never to let her go again.

“You came back,” Sansa sobbed, her fingers digging into his cloak. She didn’t seem to notice that she was shaking and shivering.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Tyrion tried to joke but his voice was cracking and there were tears in his eyes. 

Sansa pulled back, hands framing his face as she looked at him, searching for new injuries, new scars. Tyrion smiled, brushing her wild hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear as she shuddered, satisfied that he was still in one piece. Then she leaned forward and she was kissing him, not soft and sweetly like he might have expected, no hesitation at all. No, she was kissing him deeply, desperately, passionately, and he found himself lost in her almost at once.

“Sansa,” he breathed when they finally parted, his eyes fluttering open to see the look of pure joy on her face. “We have to go inside,” he said, watching her shiver. “You're going to catch your death, Northerner or not.”

Sansa laughed, picking herself up out of the snow and lacing their fingers together as they entered Winterfell together. Her maid, who had been halfway through rebraiding her hair, was watching with a sour expression that hid a smile, pleased that her lady was finally happy.

There were whistles and cheers as they walked through Winterfell, japes and comments following them as Sansa led him inside and directly to her chambers and Tyrion found he didn't mind. The people were happy for their lady, they loved her greatly and they saw the joy on her face as clear as day, and if they teased her a little for it, there was no harm done.

She was shivering hard now and Tyrion tutted as she tugged off her gown, the skirt wet from kneeling in the snow, while he pulled a blanket from her bed to wrap around her shoulders.

“I never thought you'd be so happy to see me,” he said quietly as they settled in front of the fire. He's discarded his gloves, traveling cloak, and boots at last and he sighs when she reaches for him again, her hand in his.

“How could I not be? I love you.” 

She says is so simply that for a moment Tyrion cannot breath, cannot even think of breathing, then they're kissing again, then more, so much more, and when someone knocks at her door late that evening with a tray of food and a knowing look, Tyrion couldn't care less. 

They eat, eyes on one another, the silence comfortable. Sansa is no longer cold and Tyrion...he feels whole, for perhaps the first time in his life. The Long Night is over, the war for the seven kingdoms is won. His wife is by his side, and though he never thought to call the North such in all his years, he is home.


End file.
